Greyfriars Bobby
by SnowGlimmer
Summary: Arthur reflects and mourns on a national icon who comes close to his end, and wonders why such a small dog could have such a profound affect on him.


This was written for the Hetalia kinkmeme. It's been a while since I've written anything, and even longer since I've written something relating to Hetalia. I fell in love with the idea, and I couldn't resist the chance to write it. Please read, review, and enjoy!

**Greyfriars Bobby**

Although England was bitterly cold in the winter, Arthur still loathed being out and about after the sun had set in this kind of weather. Bundled up with a thick coat, gloves, and scar wrapped up to his nose, the man walked as briskly as one could through several inches of snow, his breath making sweat bead around his mouth from not being allowed to escape, but not going so far as to warm his nose. One hand was firmly lodged in his pocket, while the other held a brown paper bag, from which the scent of warm meat could be barely be made out.

Usually he didn't visit so late at night. It wasn't proper to be wandering around such places after dark, but the meeting he'd been in had run late, and after eating a quick dinner for himself back at his flat, he'd packed up the leftovers and set out.

Not many people knew where he went, always carrying food with him. Francis would just mock him, because for while he proclaimed to be a country of love, the love he spoke of was of the flesh and only to be shared with humans. Alfred had an idea, but said nothing of it. For all his brash talk and heroic gestures, he knew when to leave things well enough alone. The only person who knew for sure was Kiku, who surveyed him with the same cool, collected look as always, but there was an understanding and bitterness there that spoke of his own emotions on the subject.

Even through his gloves, the iron gate was icy against his hands, and creaked loudly as he opened it. There was a small light in the groundkeeper's quarters, but other than that the only light he had was the moon and stars above, glinting off the fresh white powder and making it easy enough to find his way.

Usually, his crunching footsteps would alert Bobby to his approach, but not a thing in the graveyard stirred as the familiar tombstone came in to view. Half covered by snow, Arthur could make out patches of warm brown fur and a probably very cold black nose.

"Hey there," he greeted softly, squatting to brush the snow, his heart aching at how cold the little dog felt to the touch. But as he laid his hand on him, Bobby's head swung towards him, milky-brown eyes still somehow showing happiness at him being there. This time, he didn't make any move to get up and bounce around, yipping happily like he usually did. He lay in the snow, wagging his tail so imperceptibly that Arthur almost couldn't detect the movement.

"I had pork chops tonight," he said, pulling a container from the bag he carried and dumping the scraps of meat out on to the ground in front of the dog, making sure it was close enough for him to reach without having to move. Bobby ate sluggishly, Arthur stroking his head and scratching his ears the whole time, but the little dog seemed to give up before the pork chop was even half-gone.

Wordlessly, Arthur slipped off his coat, a warm, well worn brown thing (his favorite), brushing aside the leftover food to wrap Bobby up in it. Had he always been so light? Sure, he was a small dog, but he could feel how thin he was becoming, and how brittle his bones had to be. With just his nose and eyes poking out, the dog let out a little sigh when Arthur set him back down on the ground, the wind chilling him straight to the bone without any sort of protection.

It was so hard, to walk away and leave him there. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he almost walked past the groundskeeper, who stood waiting for him at the gate.

"He hasn't much longer," the old man said, lighting his pipe and shivering as he spoke. "Didn' eat at all whiles you were gone."

Arthur wrapped his scarf closer around him, glancing back in to the darkness where he could barely make out the shape of the little bundle. "Fourteen years is a long time to wait for someone," he answered softly, and was surprised by the tumultuous emotions he felt. He was an old nation, who had fought wars and seen thousands and thousands of people killed in the name of peace and sometimes less nobel causes. How, then, was he so affected by a little terrier who was waiting for his dead master to come back?

Perhaps it was because he admired the little dog's faithfulness. In his long life, it was seldom that he encountered a person, or nation, with that kind of devotion to a cause, let alone another person. He'd always seen dogs as simple creatures, but after spending the last fourteen years looking after Bobby, he knew that they had the capacity to feel the same emotions as he did.

"I hope he won't pass during this dreadful winter. He deserves to feel the sun on him one more time, God help him," Arthur muttered, nodding to the groundsman has he walked out of the cemetery. That night, as he sat in an armchair by the fire, in dry clothes sipping a mug of tea, it was still impossible for him to shake the chill that seeing that precious creature laying half-buried in the snow had burdened him with.


End file.
